


they say what you give is always what you need

by janie_tangerine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (for what passes for it in bronn's world), Desk Sex, Explicit Language, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Praise Kink, The Author Regrets Nothing, rough-ish sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 03:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Tyrion and Bronn take things back from when they left them off.





	they say what you give is always what you need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> OH HI so, no long-ass AN for once but tldr: I promised my pal totemundtabu that I'd write him bronn/tyrion post-finale desk sex WHEN THE FINALE AIRED, right now both other things I'm working on are getting long as hell and I needed to actually finish something and I figured it was time I delivered, so: HELLO HAVE YOUR POST-FINALE DESK SEX. I TRIED. ;) <3333
> 
> Also: the title is from bon jovi, I own zilch, admittedly this set-up was one of the few things I didn't 100% hate about the finale but if I owned GOT it'd have ended differently and I'll warn again just in case that the language here is fairly heavy because since when Bronn can do courtesy. And now I'll saunter back downwards to the other long stuff ;) <333

“Will this be all?” Ser Davos asks after they review the last matters of the day.

Everyone nods or grunts their agreement before they stand up and leave — Tyrion watches Sam Tarly run out of the door first, but of course he would, he has two children in his quarters after all. Lady Brienne nods at him and says she’ll see about the open Kingsguard positions before she leaves, following him, and if for a moment Tyrion feels like _someone is missing_ in the room, well, it’s not new. Maybe one day it will stop.

(It’s still too soon for the both of them.)

Ser Davos bows at him and follows them out, and Tyrion slides off his chair and proceeds on putting it back in its place and then the others, assuming that everyone else left. He knows he _doesn’t_ have to do it and that there is no need, but it’s a mindless task in between ones that are certainly not such and he likes to have others come into the room and find it tidy. So, he goes at it, starting from his, then moving on Ser Davos’s side and proceeding on —

“Didn’t peg you for the kind who tidied shit up around here.”

Oh.

Well, obviously not _everyone_ left the room.

“I didn’t peg you for someone who’d help me with it,” Tyrion replies in Bronn’s general direction before he moves on to put Brienne’s chair back in place. “And I suppose it makes me the one who’s right in between the two of us, since you _aren’t_ helping me.”

Bronn snorts and moves closer to his own chair, but instead of pushing it back in place he moves it back and drops down on it. Tyrion has no bloody idea of how he can manage to do that somewhat gracefully when looking at Bronn you’d hardly use that word to describe _him_ , but he honestly can’t come up with anything more suited.

“Right, sure, I work my way up from nothing to where I am, to _push chairs around_.”

Fair point, Tyrion figures. “Then you’ll never experience the feeling of leaving behind a room that looks actually neat and tidy thanks to your humble efforts.”

Bronn raises an eyebrow, looking not at all convinced.

“No,” he says, “and I’ll think I’ll leave it to your overzealous arse if it’s all the same to you. You know no one’s taking that job from you, don’t you?”

Sometimes Tyrion wonders if he should be worried of how easily can Bronn _still_ read him even if they didn’t see each other for years.

Then he remembers that maybe it’s not such a bad thing, that someone actually _does_ read him that well. “I know,” he admits, figuring there’s no point in denying it when he knows Bronn is right and arguing it any further won’t help. “I’d rather be overzealous, if you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind,” Bronn shrugs, “I’m still not the one moving the fucking chairs around. And it’s way more comfortable now than it was the other time you were sitting at the head of the table.”

He stares down at him, a corner of his mouth turned slightly upward.

Tyrion smirks back, recognizing that look even _too much_. He remembers it from when he had this job the first time round.

“I suppose that right now your duties come with a lot more money and better accommodations?”

“You don’t suppose wrong,” Bronn goes on, spreading his legs a bit. Tyrion can’t help noticing that he does look better, dressed in those new, fine leathers. He doesn’t _look_ noble born and never will, but he certainly doesn’t carry it with shame or anything like _that_.

He wishes he had some wine around, but he’s been trying to cut back on it lately. Not giving it up completely, but these days the more time passes the more he thinks of his sister whenever he indulges in it too much, and… that’s really not where he wants his mind to go.

Not _now_.

“Still,” Bronn goes on when he says nothing, “it’s been enough that I can say something for sure.”

“Enlighten me,” Tyrion presses on when he doesn’t continue.

“Well, as much as a man enjoys his money and his accommodations, I cannot help remembering that the last time _you_ had this job, working for you came with a few… further perks.”

_Wait_. Tyrion remembers even too well what they used to do back then when Shae wasn’t around and _before_ Shae was around, even if they never talked about it.

Still.

Why would Bronn bring _that_ up now? It’s been years, after all.

“But you don’t work _for_ me now, do you?”

Bronn sends him a look that Tyrion for once in his life has no idea of how to read — either Bronn thinks he’s a complete idiot or he thinks he’s just said something incredibly hilarious, but just to _him_.

“Oh, right, I work for the King, who _incidentally_ put you in charge of the important decisions and so on, and who decided to take me on also based on _your_ recommendation, so maybe I don’t work for you as far as the fucking laws are concerned, but in practice this is just an improvement over my old position and we both know it.”

Tyrion _does_ laugh at that — he makes a fair case.

“Even if,” Bronn goes on, “I thought it would mean a _complete_ improvement, not a loss of _some_ perks while gaining others.”

The way he’s saying it, it’s _obvious_ what perks he’s referring to.

Tyrion is fairly sure that if he was drinking right now, he’d have dropped the glass.

“And that’s an actual complaint you’re making?” Tyrion asks after a pause that feels entirely too long.

“I’m saying that I don’t see why a man should give any perks up to gain others when nothing, until now, says that he can’t have them all.”

“ _All_?”

Bronn shrugs with such casualness you would think he was talking about money. But Tyrion knows he’s most definitely _not_ and —

“Unless his employer has decided that those perks don’t come with _these_ duties, I don’t see the harm in said man wanting the entirety of what he can gain.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Interesting,” Bronn smiles wider, “did I just make you fucking speechless or what?”

“You haven’t — I mean, I hadn’t thought you would ask for… the full benefits pertaining to your position,” Tyrion finally says, feeling like it’s _not_ really conveying what he means to say. Fuck. Once he was a _lot_ better at smooth-talking his way into whichever situation, or out of it. Maybe imprisonment means he has to start exercising that skill some more. Maybe.

At _that_ , Bronn lets out a sigh, then he stares at him _again_. Looking uttermost serious now.

“No one here has much more time for this fucking ridiculousness and I never was raised to not speak my damned mind, so just answer me straight: are those perks a thing that you might offer _again_ or not?”

Damn him for not leaving Tyrion a way to further surmise the situation. Thing is — asked like _this_ , he doesn’t know what to think, but _of course_ he wouldn’t say no, not when back in the day he had never _told_ Bronn but he had fully enjoyed every time they fucked because somehow it didn’t _feel_ like there was money behind it even if there technically was, not when he’s jerked off to memories of Bronn’s cock in his mouth and the contrary for years when he couldn’t find anyone to bed, not when looking at him he feels desire pool down in his gut and blood rush downwards, scalding, and he’s probably overthinking this, but lately he has decided that overthinking is maybe better than the contrary —

“I don’t see why not,” he says, “but why would you —”

“Oh, fuck it to the Seven Hells and back,” Bronn says, and before Tyrion can blink he’s stood up, pushed the chair behind him, moved in front of him, grabbed him by the waist, kicked _his_ own chair back and —

_Slammed him on the damned Small Council’s table_ , none too gently even if not hard enough to actually hurt. What —

“Lannister,” he says before Tyrion can ask _what is he even doing_ , “since I’ve been trying to make you get the point for I don’t know how bloody long and you’re obviously not quite understanding and behaving like an overzealous cunt that also cannot answer a question straight, and out of every kind of cunt you could be, I had figured _fidgety_ wasn’t one, I took the liberty to make sure we wouldn’t be found here by every other poor bastard in this council tomorrow morning still arguing over the bloody fucking _perks_. I think I’ve made my case pretty damned clear and I’ve spent a fair number of meetings thinking I’d have really liked to bend you over the damned table, so: do you want me to or not? Because you just seemed to imply you _did_ , and in that case I think we’d be really wasting time _talking_ now, wouldn’t we?”

His face is right above Tyrion’s, blue eyes staring straight into his, and oh, it’s obvious that he _means_ it, and for a moment Tyrion thinks that he probably fell asleep on his own damned chair and has been dreaming the entire thing, then he decides that if it’s the case he might as well take advantage of it and so he reaches up, it’s close enough that he _can_ put a hand behind Bronn’s neck and drag him forward, and he does, and a moment later Bronn’s mouth is on his and _fuck_ , he’s kissing him as if he’s taking it back exactly where they left it a long time ago, his tongue going straight for Tyrion’s, his thin, rough lips against his own, and maybe Tyrion moans into it a moment later, feeling the blood rush down to his cock as he arches up against Bronn’s chest, but — it’s been a fucking long time and he _missed_ this and a moment later Bronn has pushed him backwards so that he’s completely lying down on the hard wood while he has propped himself up and has one knee on the edge.

“Wait a moment,” he says, even if he _hates_ that he’s saying it, but for a moment he imagines what’s going to happen and maybe someone else realizing what they’re about to do _tomorrow_ — “should we really do it _here_ —”

“Don’t worry,” Bronn snorts, his hands going to Tyrion’s belt, slower than he’d have imagined, “I’ll clean it up in case.” He opens the belt, throwing it to the side. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of making sure someone would find out before we even started for real again, would I?”

His fingers move on to the laces of Tyrion’s breeches, pulling them open. “After all,” he grins, moving closer, pushing his breeches and smallclothes down, enough to free his erection, and _shit_ , Tyrion hadn’t realized that he was _this_ hard already, but then again he really doesn’t go to brothels these days, he thinks he lost his taste for them, and it’s been — a long time since —, “you _do_ take pride in it, don’t you?”

“Are you _seriously_ talking about _that_ now?” Tyrion groans, grasping at his shoulders, and no, it’s been years but the man definitely hasn’t lost his muscles from his sellsword days, and Tyrion is delighted to find out that it’s the case. He always found it arousing, to run his hands over the man’s arms, and maybe if sometimes he thought that they were arms that had _saved his life_ more than once —

“Oh, now you’re surprised _I_ talk? When I’ve never ran into anyone who’d talk his mouth off more than _you_? Please,” he says, his fingers wrapping around Tyrion’s cock, and shit, _shit_ , they’re rougher than they were before and it says a lot because they were _plenty_ rough before, “now you’d be a hypocritical cunt if you complained and I never took you for a _hypocrite_ , my lord Hand.”

“How about you _don’t_ ,” Tyrion moans as Bronn starts stroking his length, slow but _firm_ , wishing he’d just come back down and kiss him again already, shit, _he missed it_ —

“How about I _do_ ,” Bronn grins, and picks up the pace. Just a bit, not much, and _fuck_ , Tyrion wouldn’t have bet money that he’d remember _exactly_ the way he likes it when people touch his cock, but he _does_ , fuck, — “inform you that everyone noticed that?”

Tyrion, whose blood is currently flooding in directions that are entirely opposite to his brain’s, has to take a moment before realizing what he means, but as he does —

“About the fucking chairs?”

Bronn groans and suddenly moves forward, his hand elbow crashing on the table, his hand graspint at Tyrion’s hair more gently than he’d have expected.

“ _That_ , or better that _you_ are there making sure that they’re in fucking order and shit, and that the table is always bloody neat and that food is brought in at the right times and that there’s wine always available but you never fucking touch it. _All of us_ noticed.”

“And this is relevant to — our — current _exchange of perks_ — how?” Tyrion manages to say in between moans as Bronn strokes him faster and _faster_.

“It’s relevant,” Bronn says, “and I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this _now_ , you’re definitely going to have to make it up to me later, _in a bed_ , because whatever bloody official reason it is that you got this job, everyone knows that you’re _good_ at it.”

Tyrion would like to deny that he moaned louder at hearing that.

Unfortunately, he _cannot_ , so he just hopes no one’s passing near the door.

“Bronn —”

“Shut it. You did pretty damn good the first time round and I’d like to remind you that _you_ didn’t use wildfire to blow this damned city up, you _did_ try to salvage the entire damned place more than once, you have the skills, you could — stop assuming people will think you’re unfit for it because they come into the room and the bloody chairs are out of fucking place.”

Seven Hells, on one side he wants Bronn to just shut up and get on with it, on the other there’s a part of him that he’s learned to ignore for most of his life because he _knew_ nothing good would come from indulging it, not around everyone he knew with a few, lone exceptions, that is blooming in pleasure at the _idea_ of it, at knowing someone actually _did_ notice that he was maybe trying too hard but he was _trying_ , at knowing that someone thinks he’s actually good at what he does, at knowing that someone thinks he actually won’t fuck it up the third time round —

“That said,” Bronn goes on, his fingers getting faster and faster and _faster_ —, “no one actually complains about the chairs. I’ve heard it was _adorable_ that you’d do that.”

“Do I want to know who said that?” Tyrion breathes, knowing that in a short while he won’t really manage coherent answers.

“Not while we fuck, most likely,” Bronn grins back, and then he leans down and kisses him again, tugging on his hair, and Tyrion can’t — he _can’t_ — he arches upwards, moaning into Bronn’s mouth the moment he strokes him faster and _harder_ , and oh, _oh_ , a moment later he’s closed his eyes and he’s coming against Bronn’s hand Bronn has moved back enough that he can actually arch upwards, and suddenly the table isn’t as hard as before because _it doesn’t matter_ and Bronn’s hand is still moving around his cock, his mouth moving back and then crushing down into Tyrion’s again and _again_ —

“ _Could_ we fuck?” He blurts, suddenly realizing that he _wants_ it and he won’t have the patience to get to either of their rooms, they’re too far.

“Oh, I thought you’d never bloody ask,” Bronn says, and then reaches down in his breeches and takes a vial out of his pocket, _wait_ , did —

“Did you —,” Tyrion groans, feeling like he’ll get hard again very, very soon.

“You’d think that after all the time we’ve known each other —” Bronn shakes his head, gets up on his knees and gets rid of his belt, good thing _he_ did that because Tyrion’s hands are shaking right now and he’s not so sure it wouldn’t have taken him entirely too long to do that, “— you’d know I don’t do shit without having thought of all the possible outcomes. I might improvise damn well but I’m not the kind of cunt who _likes_ to.”

Tyrion manages to kick off his boots while Bronn does the same and gets out of his own breeches — he’s only in his shirt and leather now, and Tyrion’s fully expecting it when Bronn opens up the vial, it’s oil, has to be, and not so slowly pushes one of his rough fingers inside his arse, but he’s not being _harsh_ about it. Fuck, exactly like they used to —

“Right,” Tyrion moans as he adds a second one, “then — I suppose I will try to make this the last time I underestimate you?”

“Please fucking do so,” Bronn says, shoving his fingers in deeper, and _oh_ , shit, _shit_ of course he’s done this already so of course he knew where to push, and a moment later Tyrion’s back is arching off the table again and his fingers are grasping the tablecloth underneath and he knows he’s getting hard again, and he can see that Bronn is in his same predicament, and fuck on one side he _wants_ to take him in his mouth _but_ maybe they can do it later on a proper bed, right now the more Bronn’s fingers push inside him and wring moans out of his mouth the more he just wants him to _get on with it_ —

Bronn moves his fingers out, and he’s about to protest, but then he pours the rest of the vial on his palm, strokes his own cock with it once, twice, thrice, and then he moves forward and —

“Well, _fuck_ , I’m going to —”

“ _Now_ you’re asking permission? Just _do_ it —” Tyrion starts, and a moment later Bronn has a hand on his hip and one grasping at his doublet and he’s lining up to him and pushing inside him and _fuck_ , he’s not going slow but not too harsh either, and Tyrion decides that his hands have stopped shaking enough that he can reach up and grasp at Bronn’s hair, dragging him _down_ —

“Fuck,” Bronn says into his mouth, “ _yes_ , that whole mummer’s farce was absolutely worth it.”

“What,” he groans, “the whole part where you were — using _chairs_ — to say we should fuck?”

“‘Scuse me if I figured going up to his lordship saying we should just fuck again already felt somehow inappropriate.”

“And since when you _care_ ,” Tyrion manages to say as Bronn moves back and fucks into him _again_ and seven hells, he’s going slower now, for he doesn’t know what reason, probably he wants to draw it out, most likely he wants to draw it out, and he’s not going to say no, not when he the burn of his cock inside him is just _exactly_ giving that slight edge of pain that he always did like when they fucked, before, not when he’s going for the right place over and over —

“Since never, but I figured that if I’m to be a respectable lord with a respectable castle now, I should get on with _that_.” He slides out a bit, slides in _again_ as he tugs on Tyrion’s hair, but that’s almost gentle, and the contrast will fucking kill him in all the best ways, it _will_ —

“Also, I’m really fucking glad I asked for — my old job’s perks, _my lord_.”

Tyrion’s heart skips a beat or ten at that, his hands grabbing tighter and tighter at Bronn’s shoulders as he tries to give him better access.

“You — you are?” He hates that his voice trembles as he asks that.

“‘Course I am,” Bronn goes on, fucking into him deeper, “the old job wasn’t the safest, but I _did_ have the best employer a man could ask for, even if he can be a cunt who _doesn’t get it_ sometimes.”

He moves back, then cants his hips forward, and _fuck_ Tyrion feels like he won’t be able to keep it in much longer, not when he’s telling him _this_ , not when it’s making his chest feel like it’ll swell —

“Which — was why — I _really_ — thought it was the case to make sure he _did_ get it,” he moans, and Tyrion can feel that both of them are close and shit, _shit_ now he wants Bronn to come inside him more than he can remember wanting a lot of things _right now_ , and then Bronn pulls at his hair just a bit more and slams inside him one last time and he clenches around him tighter than he had before and _oh_ , Bronn’s mouth is on his again just as he spills inside him with that last thrust, and Tyrion can only grasp at his hair (it’s disheveled now, but he doesn’t think he minds) and pull on it as their mouths meet and he finds friction against Bronn’s chest and he finally, _finally_ goes over the edge again, a rush of pleasure taking him from head to toe as he comes again, feeling Bronn’s warm skin all over his frame and his hands on him, firm and rough and holding on to him like he’s not interested in letting go any time soon —

( _good, because Tyrion doesn’t really think he wants him to_ )

— and they’re still kissing and trading moans as his blood rushes hot across his entire body and fuck but he hasn’t come this hard in _years_ and his eyes are burning and he can’t go back from this now, but he doesn’t — he doesn’t want to.

Not at all.

Eventually, the kiss turns slightly less frantic after that rush is over, but he doesn’t — he doesn’t quite break it. He _likes_ it, damn it, he likes how Bronn’s thin rough warm lips feel against his mouth, and when Bronn’s teeth grasp at his lower lip before breaking it off he moans right into his mouth again, but at this point he’s way beyond decency and if anyone hears them, _whatever_. He can’t care less.

Bronn doesn’t pull out for a long, long moment, and then he does at once, more or less rolling on his side, still completely lying over the table. Good thing it’s sturdy.

Also, the tablecloth is _completely_ ruined. Not that Tyrion can give much of a fuck right now.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “you’ve made your point exceedingly clear.”

“Good. So what do you say to my humble request?”

“Somehow you and _humble_ don’t quite fit in the same sentence,” Tyrion mutters, “but if you want those perks back, you can absolutely have them. Possibly in one of our respective rooms, not _here_.”

“Why,” Bronn grins, “I thought it’d give you nice memories for when the meetings get boring. Which is all the fucking time, for that matter.”

He snorts, unable to keep it in. “Oh, I _do_ ,” he says. “That definitely worked out. So, as much as I would enjoy paying my debts concerning all the perks I haven’t given you since we established this council, you also said you _would_ make sure no one knew, so —”

“All right, all right,” Bronn says, rolling his eyes, “I’ll put on my clothes, we’ll clean that off, I’ll see that someone else finds a new cloth before tomorrow because I’ll be fucked into the Seven Hells and back if this place doesn’t look spotless clean the moment we all walk into it tomorrow, then we can go back to your room and you can do what you all Lannister like so much and pay your debts, how about that?”

“And why my room and not yours?”

“I’ve _been_ in the Hand’s quarters,” Bronn grins slightly wider. “There’s a larger bed.”

“... Can’t disagree with _that_ notion.”

“Then maybe we should get started, shouldn’t we,” Bronn says, but then his mouth loses the smirk and he leans forward and they’re kissing _again_ and now it’s slower and less frantic and his tongue is running along Tyrion’s lips before pressing inside, and his hands are pulling at Tyrion’s hair again, just slower, gentler, and as Tyrion mirrors the gesture, he decides that maybe they can afford waiting a bit more before they actually get down to fix the mess on the tablecloth.

But he thinks he hasn’t looked forward to paying any debt as much as he’s looking forward to paying _this one._

End.


End file.
